Edward cleared his throat and spoke slowly, but forcefully. ‘I wish,’ he began, ‘to be taken immediately to where Nash Williams conducted his affairs.’ Madison looked hard at Edward. Detecting Madison’s opposition, Edward repeated himself. ‘I wish you to conduct me to the Nash Williams settlement.’ Madison nodded once, careful to make his nod an acknowledgement of his understanding the words, and not an agreement to act upon them. ‘Well?’ asked a suddenly animated Edward. ‘When do we leave?’ ‘Perhaps in a day or two,’ suggested Madison. ‘How long do you wish to tarry there?’ Edward snorted in disbelief, and then laughed out loud. ‘A day or two! We leave today. And I will tarry there as long as I desire.’ Madison adjusted his posture, and then explained to Edward that should they leave immediately they would inevitably have to spend this coming evening in a settlement between the capital and Nash’s own former place of residence, for the distance was simply too great to be covered in what remained of this day. A river canoe would have to be engaged, and a navigator found. Supplies would have to be purchased. Precautions taken. Madison listed off the various stages of preparation that still needed to be passed through, but even as he spoke he could see that nothing was going to deflect the smiling Edward from his chosen course. The man’s mind was fevered with determination.
The river wore a rutted frown where their slow progress had disturbed her sleep. To either side the somber banks, cluttered with trees, shrubs and vines, were pressed by a thick, brooding undergrowth that was heavy with years. As dusk approached, the heat still hung low like a ceiling above their heads. Madison uttered some words in the local language and the native helmsman, a reed of a man who could clearly boast no association with books, and whose liquor-stained breath announced his common mode of recreational activity, began to paddle towards the northern shore. The mosquitoes redoubled their attentions, and Edward crushed another against his blotched arm and asked if this place was to mark their journey’s end for this day. As the canoe neatly avoided the clean stones, and fetched up on a muddy shelf, Madison replied that he knew of a settlement hereabouts where, according to his calculations, they should receive a peaceful welcome. However, he advised Edward that perhaps he ought not to mention the true purpose which lay behind their visit, for there were those who would not consider a pilgrimage to the site of Nash Williams’s demise an honorable journey.
Madison followed a stamped-in path through the tall grass, and Edward, ignoring the irritating bite of a nail in his boot, and the native tracked close behind. A little more than one hundred paces from the river bank, Madison stopped suddenly and pointed through the bush towards a village. Tall brown huts were huddled together within a clumsy fence, and a faint wind lifted human voices and stirred Edward’s curiosity. Choosing not to speak, Madison edged forward through the drooping foliage and into the heart of this village which, much to Edward’s consternation, was soon revealed to be not a native settlement, but one populated by Americans who spoke English. The primitive nature of the conditions shocked Edward, who until now had not the slightest notion of the poverty-stricken rural existence which enveloped those Christians who chose not to settle in and around the capital town of Monrovia. Men, women and children appeared to be living alongside hog, goat and fowl as though family members, and Edward had never before witnessed such scenes of squalor, not even on the worst-run plantations in his native America.
Night fell quickly, the sky bereft of stars, the moon hidden behind drifting clouds. Fires were lit and the bush closed in as though a cloak were being draped around them. Madison left Edward alone with the native, and withdrew to negotiate for some shelter in which they might pass the night. An exhausted Edward slumped to the ground and removed the offending boot. Madison soon returned and informed his former master that there was only one small hut available, and they had been encouraged to share it. However, continued Madison, if his former master wished, he would happily sleep outside with the native. Edward would have none of this. Madison sat down on the dirt beside Edward and reached for a gourd of water. He drank deeply and then enquired if Edward were hungry, for the settlers would soon be roasting a goat. Pleading excessive fatigue, Edward insisted that he simply wished, if possible, to retire. Madison put the gourd to one side and, sensing the white man’s discomfort, he helped him to his feet and together they crossed the strangely quiet village until they reached their lodgings. Once there, Madison deposited Edward at the mouth of the wooden hut, and then he moved off to relieve himself in the bush. Edward watched Madison’s dark, glistening, sweat-filmed skin until his former slave was swallowed up whole by the blackness of the night.
When Madison returned, Edward was already undressed and basking in the glow of the lamp. Two straw cots lay next to each other, and an uneasy Madison looked around at the personal articles which littered the hut. In order that he might mask his discomfort, Madison spoke quietly as he unbuttoned his clothes. He asked Edward if there were any real purpose to their visit in a practical sense, or if this was nothing more than a tribute to Nash? Or perhaps a promise that was being kept? Edward listened intently to Madison, his eyes fixed upon his former slave. Madison removed his shirt. And then Edward shared with Madison his intention of taking the children of Nash Williams back to America and offering them the possibility of a proper Christian life amongst civilized people. Madison turned away and said nothing in reply. Outside the hut the nocturnal screeching and sawing began to build towards its terrifying nightly pitch. Edward asked the semi-clad Madison if he thought the children would return with him, and how many there were, and how many wives did Nash truly possess? Madison drank in all of these questions, and then turned back and stared directly into the face of his former master. Half of Edward’s face lay shrouded in thick shadow, the other half changed hue and shape according to the nature of the dancing flame. As Madison moved to answer this volley of questions, Edward reached up his hand in a gesture of silence, and then leaned forward and took Madison’s hands in his own. He spoke softly to Madison of how far he felt from home, from those like himself, and how he desired to be once more among his own people, both white and colored. Madison stared back and said nothing in reply. And then he felt the pressure increase upon his hands, and Madison took this as a signal to speak. ‘No,’ he said. The word echoed around the small hut, its weight and purpose obscuring the sounds of nature without. And then, after what seemed an eternity, Edward Williams gave up Madison’s hands and lay back on his straw cot.
Shortly before noon the following day, the native helmsman leapt nimbly from the canoe and hoisted it up and on to a narrow strip of shingle. On the river bank lay scattered the rusting remains of tools and old field equipment. Edward and Madison waded ashore. They stood at the water’s edge and listened to the strange creaking of the trees. Then Edward watched as his former slave found a secure footing and hoisted himself, by means of a strong vine, up and on to the summit of the muddy bank. With some aid from both the native and Madison, Edward was able to follow. There, spread before him, he could now see the litter of brown cones that constituted the final Nash Williams settlement. Madison took the lead and ushered Edward forward and into the unkempt filth of the place. Everywhere he turned, Edward’s eyes were assaulted by natives who squatted idly, their bodies resting awkwardly on their foundations, like their infantile shacks. Edward attempted to paint his face with a thinly benevolent smile, but realized that he was ill-equipped to disguise his true feelings of disgust in the midst of this specter of peopled desolation. A seemingly undisturbed Madison shepherded Edward through the dried and drying mud, until they stood outside of the house of Nash Williams. Madison pointed at the straw grass hovel, encouraging his former master to enter, but Edward stepped back in revulsion. What could possibly have occurred in the Christian soul of his Nash Williams to have encouraged him to make peace with a life that surely even these heathens considered contemptible? Again Madison gestured to Edward that there was nothing to block his path should he choose to step forward and enter, but Edward recoiled. His eyes climbed to the sun, which had now reached its highest point in the sky, and for some moments they stood together in silence. Then Madison pulled an over-large handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at his damp brow. Edward looked across at his former slave, and hoped that this man might usher him towards some understanding of the disorder that lay hereabouts. But Madison had about his person an air of nonchalance. And then it struck Edward with a terrible force. He was alone. He had been abandoned. Madison would not even meet his eyes. ‘Madison?’ His former slave ignored him. Recognizing the hopelessness of his predicament, Edward opened his mouth and drew deeply of the foul air. He decided that he would sing a hymn, in order that he might calm his beleaguered mind. The natives stared at him, and watched as the white man’s lips formed the words, but no sound was heard. Still, Edward continued to sing his hymn. The natives looked on and wondered what evil spirits had populated this poor man’s soul and dragged him down to such a level of abasement. Their hearts began to swell with the pity that one feels for a fellow being who has lost both his way and his sense of purpose. This strange old white man. Madison turned away.